Chapter 17
Seventeen
“Are you certain there is nothing else I can get for you?” Xenia asked.
“Yes. You have done enough already.” Realizing she sounded ungrateful, Finn added hastily, “I am already intruding upon your hospitality. I was fine to return to Pell House. If that physician hadn’t—”
“You fainted, my dear. Even if Dr. Poole hadn’t insisted you stay the night, I would have.”
Finn was discovering that beneath her hostess’s sweet nature lay a core of steel.
After the strange episode this afternoon—everyone insisted she had fainted, but she had no recollection of doing so—Xenia had taken charge.
She’d sent the Hawks home, and Owen had carried Finn—which was both unnecessary and embarrassing—to a guest bedchamber.
He’d hovered until Gigi and Evie shooed him away.
Then the ladies proceeded to fuss over Finn, feeding her a light supper of consommé and toast before changing her into one of Xenia’s nightgowns.
Finally, they’d tucked her into bed and promised to return in the morning.
Finn didn’t know what to make of all this kindness.
It was overwhelming. Except for Iris, no one had looked after her before.
What made it worse was that her benefactors were her marks.
She felt like the Trojan horse being rolled into the heart of the manor.
The unintentional ruse didn’t make her feel clever or triumphant.
Instead, she felt the rusty prick of her conscience.
“Are the pillows sufficient?” Xenia lingered. “I could have more brought up—”
“There are more than enough.” Finn eyed the mound of feathery pillows behind her. “Truly.”
“I want you to be comfortable. And, well, I also wish to apologize.”
“For what?”
To Finn’s surprise, Xenia perched next to her on the bed, the way Iris or Nell might have done.
“I should have told you about the room behind the fireplace,” Xenia said. “About how I discovered it through my visions of Rose.”
When Finn had come to, she’d found herself lying on the sofa in the library, Owen by her side. His family had hovered like anxious butterflies, and even the Hawks had seemed apprehensive, uncertain whether swooning had been part of her plan.
It wasn’t. I had a vision—a real one.
She could no longer stave off the truth.
Somehow her scheme had turned into reality: she was channeling spirits—channeling Rose.
The realization stunned and terrified her.
What had triggered her sudden ability? Did she have any control over it?
Why was Rose contacting her, of all people?
She wasn’t a helpful, caring, kindhearted female like Xenia, Gigi, and Evie.
She didn’t care about ending the curse: she was a sharpster who was using false pretenses to find a treasure.
Shame entered the fray of her emotions as she registered Xenia’s penitent expression. Crikey, the lady had nothing to apologize for. In fact, Finn wanted to tell her that she was wise to keep secrets from a stranger.
Instead, Finn asked, “Why didn’t you? Tell me, I mean.”
“Evie, Gigi, and I promised our husbands that we would keep certain details to ourselves.” Xenia sighed.
“The men said that the only way they could be convinced of your ability was if you were to uncover facts about Rose on your own. They said we shouldn’t tip you off—that charlatans would use such information to fool unsuspecting people. ”
“That is sound advice—” Finn caught herself. “It is important not to distort the medium’s vision with preconceived notions.”
“Evie, Gigi, and I wouldn’t wish to prejudice you.” Xenia’s smile was relieved. “At any rate, we were confident that your ability would shine through, and it did. We were wondering, however…”
“Yes?”
“In your vision, did you see who you were running from?”
Upon reviving, Finn had shared what she remembered of the dream: the terror and urgent need to hide from whoever was chasing her.
“No. But whoever he was, he was a monster.”
She couldn’t quell a shudder.
“My poor dear. I don’t mean to distress you—”
“No, it’s good to talk about it. To know that…that others have shared my experience.”
She’d once believed that the ladies’ visions of Rose had been due to their impressionable natures. Now she was humbled by her arrogance and desperately glad to realize that she was in good company and not going mad.
“If it helps, my vision was similar to yours,” Xenia said.
“It came to me during a time of distress. Unbeknownst to Ethan and me, a gang called the Corrigans had been using the manor to stash stolen goods. A female cutthroat came to find the trove and tried to capture me to discover its location. When she was nearly upon me, Rose guided me to the room behind the fireplace. There, I found a safe place to hide—and the jewels as well.”
Finn stilled.
Blooming hell, did Carver miss this? Has the parure already been found?
She thought quickly. “What happened to the jewels? If any belonged to Rose, they might carry her impression—”
“That is a good thought. However, the jewels were returned. The Corrigans were behind a string of local burglaries, you see, and the authorities were able to match and restore every stolen piece to its rightful owner. All’s well, as they say.”
Relief burgeoned in Finn. The emerald parure would not have matched any recent burglary, nor would anyone know to claim it. Which meant it remained safely hidden—and she still had hope of saving Iris.
“You were lucky to escape that cutthroat,” Finn said.
“Yes, well, I’ve been running from her my whole life.” Xenia looked down at the coverlet she was pleating between her fingers. “The cutthroat happens to be my mother. Currently, she is serving her sentence for this and other crimes behind bars.”
Finn frowned. This pretty, sweet-natured lady was the offspring of a criminal?
“But you are so refined,” she blurted. “Such a lady.”
Xenia’s smile was wry. “I’m glad I have succeeded in pulling the wool over someone’s eyes. I try to live up to the honor Ethan has bestowed upon me.”
“He is the lucky one,” Finn said sincerely.
“He would agree with you.” Xenia’s smile faded, and her mien turned somber. “I believe there is a reason Rose shared her experiences with me, Gigi, and Evie. It happened during crises in our lives—and when we met the fellows we fell in love with.”
The words hung like ripe fruit that Finn could not allow herself to pick. Her feelings for Owen were too complicated—mostly because she shouldn’t have them. Moreover, how could she confide in the lady she was planning to rob?
“You and Owen have formed a connection, haven’t you?”
The question was simple—and impossible to evade.
Finn gave a small nod.
“I’m ever so glad.” Xenia squeezed her hand. “He is a good man. After everything he has survived, he deserves a good woman who understands him and loves him as he is.”
At the use of the L-word, Finn’s heart stuttered. “The connection, as you call it, is quite new. Probably, um, nothing serious—”
“While Owen might have engaged in some rakish behaviors as a youth, he has always been sincere in his affections. He is not one to dabble in the game of love.”
Why does she keep bringing up that blasted word?
“You should see your face.” Xenia’s eyes had a sudden twinkle. “You look like you bit into an apple and discovered half a worm.”
“I just, um, I’ve never…that is, he and I are not—”
“There is no need to explain, my dear. In fact, I ought to apologize for poking my nose where it does not belong. Owen would not take kindly to my interference, no matter how well intended. He, like Ethan, can be stubborn about his privacy. It’s a matter of pride with the Harringtons.”
“It’s more than pride,” Finn countered. “Owen has endured more than any man should have to. If I were him, I would not wish to speak of the past either.”
“A woman who understands him, like I said.” Xenia’s lips curved.
“I believe in destiny. It drew me to Ethan and a happiness I never thought possible. It transformed Gigi and Grantley from enemies to man and wife. It reunited Evie and James, who are more in love than ever. And now it has brought you here, Seraphina—and I speak for the family when I say we are inexpressibly glad.”
Finn’s throat cinched with guilt…and longing.
“Now I should let you rest, and we shall talk more in the morning.”
Finn found her voice. “Xenia?”
Nearly at the door, Xenia turned. “Yes, my dear?”
“My friends,” she said tremulously. “They call me Finn.”
Finn wasn’t surprised when she heard the discreet knock a while later.
She knew Owen would come to her. It was one of the reasons why she’d stayed put instead of sneaking around the manor searching for treasure.
In addition, although she would take a bullet before admitting it, she was still shaken after the ghostly vision; the idea of wandering around the dark manor gave her chills.
She let Owen in. He was still wearing the same clothes, but his cravat and his hair were attractively rumpled, and he had the beginnings of a night beard. He took her by the shoulders, his grip gentle and his eyes concerned.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“As I said earlier, I am perfectly well.” She touched his bristly jaw. “There is no need to worry.”
“That is easy for you to say. Channeling spirits may be your bread and butter, but for the rest of us…” He shook his head. “Watching you being taken over by a ghost shaved a few years off my life.”
“The experience was unusual—even for me,” she said hastily. “I have never felt a spirit’s presence quite so keenly.”
“You are shivering. Let us sit by the fire.”
They went to the sofa, and he insisted on bundling her in his frock coat.
Although she didn’t need it—the fire made the room warm and cozy—she liked the soft wool and being enveloped by his scent.
He sat beside her, lacing their hands and resting them on his thigh.
His casual affection made her heart flutter.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asked.
While he knew the general gist, she could speak more freely now that they were alone.
She felt strangely safe with him. The way he listened as he held her hand anchored her.
She was even beginning to wonder how he might react if she told him the truth about Iris; was it possible that he might not condemn her? That he might understand—even help her?
Don’t get ahead of yourself. Take one step at a time.
She shared again what she remembered of the vision. She trembled, recalling the way she’d found that hidden mechanism in the hearth as if invisible hands had guided her. Her last memory was of crawling into the concealed chamber and making herself as small as possible in the dark.
“Do you remember what you said to me in the hidden chamber?” Owen asked.
She shook her head.
“I am not surprised.” He drew a breath. “I think it was Rose who was talking.”
A chill tiptoed up her spine. “What did she say?”
“She was crying, feeling guilty because she’d left Thomas to face their enemy alone. He’d told her to hide, and she regretted following his instruction because their enemy then killed Thomas.”
Finn’s heart ached. “How horrible. But it wasn’t her fault.”
“I told her the same thing.”
“How did she respond?”
His face turned ruddy. “She said…she said that I was a good man.”
Finn narrowed her eyes. “Was she flirting with you?”
“No.” He laughed. “Not at all. She was comparing me to her love, Thomas, an honorable man.”
“Well. At least I was possessed by a perceptive ghost.”
Owen was still smiling. “She also told me to take care of you.”
“Of me?” Finn stared at him. “Why would she do that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. But that was the last thing she said before she—you, I mean—fainted.”
“This is all very strange.”
“Coming from a medium, that says quite a lot.”
“You don’t seem bothered by any of this.”
“Don’t I?” He paused. “I suppose because this ghost business isn’t new. Rose and Thomas visited my siblings as well when they were falling in love.”
Finn’s lungs knotted. She couldn’t breathe. Was he saying…?
“Christ, Finn.” He laughed again. “I was going to say you look as if you’ve seen a ghost, but I’ve seen that look, and this one is far worse. Afraid of love, are you?”
Finding her breath, she scowled at him. “I am not afraid of some paltry emotion.”
“Love is paltry? Are you speaking from personal experience?”
Jimmy had been Finn’s most serious follower, and she couldn’t say that she’d loved him.
She’d broken things off after discovering that he had wandering affections.
The betrayal had stung her pride more than her heart.
Then she thought of Iris. Beautiful, bold Iris—who’d been reduced to a pale, weak creature who’d do anything for more of the poison her lover had given her.
Finn shut out the painful memories of their last encounter.
It wasn’t Iris’s fault. Carver did this to her. Carver—and his promises of love.
“One doesn’t have to touch fire to know it burns,” she said flatly.
“You haven’t been in love, then.” Owen looked pleased at the notion.
“Have you?” she shot back.
“Not even close.”
She didn’t know why his prompt reply bothered her. “That makes two of us.”
“Until I met you.”
Crikey.
Her heart hammered with panic and something else. Something that made her feel as if she’d downed a bottle of champagne.
“You…you’re not saying that you…you…”
“Not yet.” His eyes held hers. “But fair warning, Finn: if I were to fall in love with any woman, it would be you.”
“You don’t know me,” she managed.
“I know you are resourceful, independent, and plucky.”
Plucky?
“You make me sound like the village spinster,” she muttered.
His lips twitched. “You are also beautiful and intriguing beyond words. I cannot stop thinking about you. I haven’t stopped—not since the day we met.”
“I suppose drugging you made a lasting impression.”
“You would have made an impression anyway. You, Finn Kidd, are unforgettable.”
He traced her cheekbone with his thumb. His touch was seductive…
but he waited. The fact that he did not presume—that he was a gentleman first and foremost—made yearning burst through the walls of her heart.
She knew they should discuss the vision further; perhaps there was a clue that might lead to the cache.
She knew that giving in to desire was perilous—and he deserved so much better.
Even spending one more night with him was wrong.
“Stay with me,” she whispered and pressed her mouth to his.